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- <text id=94TT0883>
- <title>
- Jul. 04, 1994: Books:Lotus Land No More
- </title>
- <history>
- TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1994
- Jul. 04, 1994 When Violence Hits Home
- </history>
- <article>
- <source>Time Magazine</source>
- <hdr>
- ARTS & MEDIA/BOOKS, Page 74
- Lotus Land No More
- </hdr>
- <body>
- <p> A writer travels around California, where he lived in 1969,
- and finds much altered
- </p>
- <p>By John Skow
- </p>
- <p> Bill Barich and his readers had a good thing going. They paid
- him to do their traveling. He caught the planes, sat out the
- cancellations, endured bores and bacteria. Then he chucked out
- all the bad stuff and wrote lovely, whimsical books about the
- rest: horse racing, trout fishing, quirky people who turn comical,
- not sodden, after a glass or two. Traveling Light is the title
- of one of his airy collections, and Barich seems as if he is
- about to continue with such beguiling folderol as he commences
- Big Dreams (Pantheon; 546 pages; $24), which records a long
- meander around California. Wistfully, lightly, the author recollects
- arriving in San Francisco as a 25-year-old in 1969. "In the
- Haight-Ashbury, I rented a cheap flat and furnished it a la
- mode with a massive stereo and a mattress on the floor. Something
- new and exciting seemed to enter my orbit almost daily--seven-grain
- bread, Zen meditation, the pungent smell of eucalyptus leaves.
- There was an earthquake, 4.7 on the Richter scale...And one
- night at the Fillmore Auditorium, while Janis Joplin was wailing
- on stage, a girl in a see-through blouse ran up and kissed me
- without any warning at all. O, man. California."
- </p>
- <p> O, man. You can see what's coming. Barich ages another 25 years
- and his marriage takes sick, as the state suffers severe economic
- megrims and rattles with real earthquakes, not toy ones, and
- realists among its population head for Oregon, where they are
- cordially requested to go away. Travel writing for such a pilgrim,
- over such terrain, is not going be a record of lotuses eaten
- and pretty girls embraced.
- </p>
- <p> So it proves. Barich starts at the Oregon border and works his
- way south through the failed fishing and lumber towns of the
- north coast. What he finds there, and virtually everyplace else
- in the great coastal kingdom--on through Yuba City, Copperopolis,
- San Jose, Fresno, Bakersfield, Los Angeles, the Salton Sea,
- San Isidro--is the hunkered down, fearful middle-aged and
- the resentful, nihilistic youth who see no future and no present
- worth the trouble. Prisons are the state's sole growth industry.
- "More prisons were being built in California," Barich writes,
- "than anywhere else in the world. Frequently, they were built
- on farmland stripped of its value, gone to...hardpan. Corporate
- farmers, the titans of agribusiness, often sold the dead land
- to the state for a handsome score." Go West, young man, and
- get locked up. Or be a prison guard.
- </p>
- <p> Barich is still an interested, accurate observer, a brave striker-up
- of conversations with unpromising locals, but his goofy optimism
- is mostly gone. Part of it is perspective, of course; he and
- the other Haight-Ashbury kids were looked on by their elders
- as nihilistic and futureless a quarter-century ago. Now he's
- an elder, not quite a senior, but no longer a prankish sophomore.
- </p>
- <p> If the author has changed, so has California. It is now a place
- where visitors marvel and say, "Wow, this must have been great."
- Breaking camp at Yosemite one morning at 6:30, after a night
- of headlights, radios and tape decks, Barich counts incoming
- cars: four a minute. "Almost 3.5 million tourists visited Yosemite
- every year, and I saw what a job it must be just to keep the
- rest rooms clean." Where to now, Ansel Adams?
- </p>
- </body>
- </article>
- </text>
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